


Responsibilities

by momopeachchild



Series: Dragon Age Writings [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Also her bit about responsibilities comes off as...not okay, I don't like wynne much okay?, M/M, Wynne Bashing, no matter who you romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:39:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopeachchild/pseuds/momopeachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aedan isn't very pleased with Wynne's tone of voice, nor her lectures. </p>
<p>Wynne Bashing Ahoy mateys, if it squicks ya out, steer clear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibilities

"You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?"   
"You know about Zevran and me?"

 

 

_Well, how could they not?_ Aedan mused. _He **is** rather loud.._

 

"I almost wish I didn’t! Half of us aren’t getting any sleep, the way you two carry on all night!"   
"We’ll try to keep it down next time." 

Ah there it was, well now was the time to soothe ruffled feelings. Though really as soon as the words left his lips, he knew them to be hollow. He enjoyed Zevran’s vocal love making, and who could blame her? 

 

"That’s..uh, kind of you. I suppose. Anyway…I’ve noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going." Was Wynne blushing? No, that was just the fire light. It wasn’t like she had room to talk, while finishing tying up their loose ends at Ostagar, she had all but threatened to take Alistair to her bed. Devious old woman. And so preachy too. "It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair."

 

Folding his arms over his chest, Aedan raised a single eyebrow, feeling as though he were channeling his late mother. It was probably akin to the same look, and it had always served his mother well. "I don’t appreciate your scrutiny."

 

"You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities, and I fear you will neglect them. The title is not a coat that you cast aside at the end of the day. It should inform your ever action, your every decision. The way you are acting now, it is not fitting of a Grey Warden." That brought the Warden to a pause. Perhaps it was the use of his title, or rather the over use of it that did it. Or perhaps it was the self-righteous tone. He had gone still, eerily so, and he could feel eyes on his back. The only sounds to be heard were that of the fire crackling.

 

"I do not appreciate your tone, Senior Enchanter.” he hissed, hands slipping behind his back, head cocked just slightly to get his hair out of his face. Aedan would have to re-braid the dark strands back, or perhaps have Zevran do it. “You seem to know so much of Grey Wardens without being one. I have responsibilities, I have _always_ had responsibilities. One could not be a Teryn’s son without responsibilities popping up from the very ground you walk on, as though they were deep stalkers!”

 

There was a sound of shock behind him, and Aedan realized that he had only ever told Alistair his family name. Wynne seemed slightly taken aback, and he used that to his advantage. "Aye, I was a Teryn’s son. That is how I became a Grey Warden. Arl Howe delayed his men until my older brother Fergus left with our troops for Ostagar. He dined in our halls, and broke bread with us, and just a few scant hours later turned his men onto us! No one survived, not one servant, one elf, one child was spared! I saw what those men did to my nephew, he died trying to defend his mother with a wooden sword. My own mother held his broken body in her arms, the broken body of her grandson, who hadn’t even reached his eighth name day yet.

 

"I know my duty and my responsibilities, Wynne! I swore to my mother, my mother who stayed behind to defend my dying father and I, so that I might escape, with the hopes that my brother yet lives. So that I might tell him that his wife and son, his only child are dead. That our parents are dead. That our lands and our home, and all we knew and loved who worked there, perished. That our remaining guards died with honor, defending the keep, that it did not fall easily. That I might take the revenge my mother asked me to take. I know more about responsibilities that you could imagine." He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “But we were discussing your tone. The one that boarders on the self-righteously preachy voice that the Andrastian Chantry Priests have, and the indignant tone of a mother speaking to a wayward child. You are neither my Priest, nor my mother, do not speak to me as such.”

 

Wynne opened her mouth to protest, but shut it when the Warden waved his hand between them, silencing her. “ _My mother is dead_. You cannot replace her, and I do not wish you to. You speak as though Wardens can never love, yet many had families, many had lovers. So I know it cannot be this you speak of. Perhaps it is my choice of lover? Is it because I am a man, and have taken _another man_ to my bed? That is not uncommon, especially not of nobility, nor of soldiers. I am both, why am I to be an exception?” His head tilted slightly, brown eyes fixing onto her light blue ones with a hard look. He could see her getting more uncomfortable, but he knew she would not dare call upon her magic. No, the Chantry and the Cricle had taught her well. If it were Morrigan he argued with, perhaps a minor spell, but not Wynne.

 

"Perhaps then it is that my lover is an assassin, one that tried and failed to kill me? Or perhaps it is because he is from _Antiva_?" he asked, voice suddenly losing its mock converstational tone. "Or is it because he is **_an elf_**? No matter what, I would have expected better from you. You are a Mage of the Circle of Fereldan, of all people you should know what it is like for your kind to be hated! Or is the Circle so split that even there, among fellow Magi, Elves find no solace from a world of hate?" Aedan’s tone was sharp enough to cut, and he could see it, there, on her face that it was a little of it all. “I _pity_ any child put under your tutelage, to be given such a close minded woman. But I will tell you this now, Senior Enchanter Wynne of the Circle of Fereldan, and I will not repeat myself. The army we gather will have Dalish elves. It will have Dwarves, and any others who come to us willing to fight for our lands. _Our_ lands, for it is not just the humans who are in danger. If we fail, all of Fereldan shall fall, and no one will remember the hatred humans had for elves, for neither shall remain!

 

"Any who joins in this army, to stand with us as brothers and sisters in arms, _will_ be treated with equal respect, mage, dwarf, elf, human, it matters not. If you cannot bring yourself to follow that, then take yourself back to your Tower, and tell the First Enchanter why you have returned. And tell him when the time comes, and the Circle marches, you needn’t take part. Do. You. Understand. Me?"

 

Nodding, the older woman took a step back, turning to go when his hand flew out to catch hers, and pulled her close, whispering so only she could hear. “And if you so much as look at Zevran the wrong way, you’ll never make it back to your tower, spirit or no.” Releasing her, he watched with cold eyes as she fled to her tent. Turning, he saw varying looks of horror, respect, and shock on his companion’s faces. “Is the stew done?” He asked softly, melting back into their slightly less grim faced warden. Settling on a log, as if that conversation did not happen, he nodded his thanks when Morrigan handed him his bowl.

 

"You..are a noble?" Leliana asked, hesitant.  
"Was."   
"But you are a Cousland?"   
"Was."   
"But it is your birthright?" 

"Was my birthright. Warden," he explained, glancing across the fire to see his lover smirking at him. But there was more there, perhaps awe that he would so openly confront someone about their relationship, or perhaps it was his views and what he demanded of his followers. They would speak later. A glance was spared for Alistair, who seemed to be having trouble with his trousers, and he fought back a smile. Perhaps he wasn’t all skirt chasing after all. And next to him still was Oghren and Sten, who had been conversing about the proper technique for running headlong into battle. Now they were both looking at him oddly. "Do I have stew on my face?"

 

"You are not as callow as I thought."   
"Thanks, Sten…I think?"

"That took some balls, Warden." Oghren piped up, lifting his flask to the man.   
"She’s too well trained to hurt me."   
"She might let you bleed next time."

 

"I’d like to see her try!" Zevran tossed out, a little too heatedly and Aedan permitted a smile then, just a quick quirk of the lips before it was gone. He gave Morrigan a side long glance and shrugged.

 

"Wynne isn’t the only one who’s handy with poultices. Now, if you will excuse me, it is long past the time necessary to start making my lover scream." Whistling a pleasant tune, he got up and quickly scooped Zevran over his shoulder and headed towards his tent, Oghren already passing around his flask, and Leliana handed out bits of cotton.

 

"So, my Warden, you wish to make me scream?"

"Eventually."

 

Zevran looked over from his armor stripping to see his lover gently stroking his sword. His family’s, he had told him one night, all he had left. Slipping his arms around his pale lover’s shoulders, the Antivan sighed. “I could slip something into her tea.”

"Tempting, but I’d rather let Morrigan at her."   
"Oh, that could be rather entertaining."   
"And we could honestly say she was killed by an Apostate."   
"And that the Apostate was …taken care of?"

 

Nodding, he sighed and turned to kiss his lover’s cheek. “Of course. You..you’re okay, right?”

"Ah it is nothing I have never heard before."   
"If I have my way, you will never hear it again so long as I’m around."   
"I heard tale your parents were good to their elves." Again he gave a nod and sighed.   
“If you worked for them, you earned your pay, your food, your bed. Elf, human, didn’t matter. Everyone received the same respect.” 

"Mm I wish I could have met your mother. She sounds like she was quite formidable. And that look? Was that hers?"   
"It wasn’t my father’s."   
"MMm I noticed Alistair had trouble sitting."   
"Soon that boy will get it into his head that a person can like men and women. Clearly, one only has to ask you, me, Leliana, and my brother if we ever find him.."

Nodding, the blonde took to working on his lover’s shoulders, pausing to pull his hair back and up, kissing the nape of his neck. “Lie down, Cara. I think there will be no screaming to night. Just ..soft words,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. And just like their first night, that one ended much the same, with a massage, and a much happier warden come the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I really don't like Wynne. I tried, I really did, but she's so preachy and over bearing, I just can't stand her. However if you do like her, I do hope you did not read this, and if you did, I know, she's a huge fan fav. Just not mine.


End file.
